Balanced
by Skandron
Summary: Who forges the weapons in a family of ninja?  Taming of steel and spirit.  Oneshot.  Alluded LeoRaph.


He loves the heat.

Solid waves rippling off the makeshift forge making his skin go tight and dry until the sweat wells up to streak him in layers of grime and salt. Eventually it'll start to itch, but right now it feels good, the evidence of hard labour. Beneath the steady flex of his body the metal bends to his will.

The forge was something they'd built, a homemade pile of ceramic bricks over piping and fire retardant linings. It had the maw of a squat, glowing monster and there was always some measure of satisfaction in plunging the raw metal into its hissing mouth to heat. Flip on the generator Don whipped up to bellow air into the bowels of it until the coals are roaring quietly, belching an offering of sooty sparks.

Sometimes Mikey comes in to watch, or Don, but they generally got bored after a few minutes of watching him flatten and fold metal. Over and over, sweat dripping down his jaw, his muscles bunching and rolling with the rhythmic strike of the hammer against glowing steel. Its a job his brother's have never liked that much. Don's got better things to do than stand in the blistering heat for hours on end - sometimes it's close to two days of constant work. Raph didn't trust Mikey not to melt something vital off his face or fall asleep and ruin the entire process, and while Leo knows how and sometimes joins him at the task, more often than not the eldest was happy to leave him to it. It was one of those never-ending tasks since they were always running low on shuriken and darts. Chain for chuks was easy to come by - Casey had bought a thick coil from the local hardware, but quality swords and sais' weren't cheap and with the amount of combat they saw, blades got broken and occasionally a sai was lost.

This is a good batch, he can feel it. It's a bitch of a time finding the right kind of metals at the dump sometimes, but he'd struck paydirt on their last run. There's a special ring when he smashes it, a metallic clank with a purer backnote that sings just so, the metal rippling and folding beneath the force of each blow. It melds into itself, layer upon layer until its ready to be beaten into shape, given lethal form. There's something hypnotic about the entire process. He doesn't eat much more than a few mouthfuls, there's no time to spare for it, just has plenty of water nearby to counter the dehydration. The endurance is a challenge he can't help but relish, and though he'd never admit it there's a beautiful artistry in the creation that makes him feel good.

Raph can't help but think of himself as he melts twisted metal into liquid slag, burning away the impurities with satisfaction. Sees parts of himself reflected in the raw, searing crackle that splutters and scatters away at every strike. Yet the closer it gets to perfection the more his brother takes form in his mind's eye. Leo weaves through his thoughts as he shapes and turns, shifts, wipes sweat aside and alternately bullies and coaxes the sullen glowing shape into a graceful slice of silver.

The balance has to be perfect - anything less would be a waste of time and Leo's come to expect and appreciate his touch with the hammer. There isn't a blade in the last five years he hasn't forged or at least had a hand in making.

Leo appears in the haze, just outside the range of shimmering heat. Raph affords him a brief searing glance, eyes flaring gold in the forge-light, unwilling to break the flowing rhythm of the work. His brother settles into a corner to watch, eyes dark and thoughtful, tracing muscle and the shifting shadows, shot through with dancing sparks.

Raw and golden, white hot, the heart of the blade takes form, becomes a gleaming shard of light. Somehow more perfect than he could have imagined.

When he's done there are twin blades sitting on the counter waiting for polish and sharpen and the finer fittings that will turn them into complete weapons. Tired, but satisfied with Leo's warm smile of appreciation, those steady hands measuring the balance of each with a murmur of approval. A wrinkled snout at his sweaty, soot-streaked state and he follows the insistent pull on his hand towards the showers, mellow on success and fatigue.

A sweeter test of endurance there as Leo takes his own measure, sets Raphael afire all over again, bending him to his will beneath the steaming waters until the after-ache of pleasure and trembling muscles are all that remain.

Sleep comes finally as he's melded against his brother's side, the heat banked for a time leaving only this tempered moment where raw power and sleek perfection can meet and merge, beautifully balanced, and always more perfect than he could have imagined.


End file.
